


Earning Surrender

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Series, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 00:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18559918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: They’re two people he doesn’t mind handing control over to, every now and then... (Post-series)





	Earning Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fuzzy Divide (Dark White)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/939784) by [Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune). 



> I wrote this _ages_ ago and never posted it for... reasons. So here it is; it's been sitting in my fic folder for only six or seven years ;) As far as I remember, it was supposed to be some sort of companion piece for [Fuzzy Divide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/939784)  
> Thanks to Foxriverinmate for the beta.

They’re two people he doesn’t mind handing control over to, every now and then.

Strike that: they’re _the_ two people he doesn’t mind handing control over to, anytime.

It doesn’t mean that being in control doesn’t have its appeals. Tonight, he gorges on their slickness and tight grip, he revels in their fast breathing and in the tangy scent of their arousal, he looks forward to their release. So good that subduing his own urge to come is hardly an issue.

He thrusts gently into Lincoln’s mouth and takes in the sight. His brother had shucked all his clothes before Michael even finished unbuckling his belt — ‘kay, maybe Michael teased with the belt thing — and is now offering a show of supple muscles and smooth skin. He’s on his knees before Michael, lips sealed fast around him and moving up and down his shaft with determination. Linc sucks him like there’s no tomorrow, like he never had dozens of occasions to enjoy the weight and taste of Michael’s cock on his tongue. He’s not faking his earnestness. He never bothers to.

Sara either isn’t faking it but, unlike Lincoln, she’s still entirely dressed; only her panties have been discarded and forgotten on the carpet, the grey silk and lace damp and sticky, ruined before the three of them even reached the bedroom. Michael has his hand under her dress. It’s all he needs, that unfettered access to the searing V between her thighs, to the slick and most intimate flesh. Sara leans heavily against him for support, whines into his neck, and tilts her hips back and forth; fucking herself onto his fingers and doing it shamelessly, too far gone to care about pride or self-control.

She loves his fingers. She told him so in the car for the umpteenth time. She whispered it into his ear with a smirk, acting as though Lincoln couldn’t hear it, couldn’t pick up on the barely concealed innuendo in her voice. He has long fingers, fingers that can push deep inside her and curl while his thumb works on her clit, and...

_Yes. Just like that._

He kisses Sara. He tastes raw need on her lips, the same kind of need that he can see on Lincoln’s face and in his eyes. Cloudy eyes, heavily lidded, the dark of the pupils eating almost all the blue-green.

Lincoln is hard, Michael knows it for a fact, as rock hard as Sara is wet and slick. If he’s not moaning as freely as her, it’s because Michael’s cock in his mouth muffles the sounds and only allows occasional groans. The vibrations of said groans vibrate all the way up Michael’s spine and slowly but surely erode his restraint. 

Sara writhes around his hand, demanding, begging for more. He slides a third finger into her, slow and careful, storing in his mind the way she stretches around the digits, adjusts, and starts again her maddening clenching. Her pleasure drips down to his wrist; for a few seconds, he considers whether he’s going to lick it off himself or offer it to Lincoln. Lincoln would certainly deserve it.

“Get yourself off,” Michael tells him, his free hand tenderly cupping Lincoln’s jaw.

Lincoln halts his desperate sucking just long enough to breathe out, “I’d prefer to fuck her...”

Michael circles his fingers inside Sara, which cuts off any acceptation or protest she may have planned to express. No matter how much the idea of watching her straddle Lincoln, or watching Lincoln ride her, is tempting, he has something else in mind for tonight.

“Next time. I want you to come before me.” The scent. The scent of Lincoln’s coming, of Lincoln’s come, is missing. Michael wants it, needs it, before letting go himself. “Please?” he adds distractedly, like an afterthought.

Obediently, Lincoln’s eyelids slide closed at the same second that his hand slides down his stomach. From this angle, Michael can only imagine the grip of his fingers on the heated flesh. Lincoln doesn’t need much, his own touch and Sara’s breathy voice pleading with Michael to give Lincoln what he obviously wants so desperately.

Lincoln’s orgasm triggers his own. He pushes a bit deeper, a bit rougher, than he should for Linc’s comfort, but he doesn’t hear any complaint. He only feels the hard suction and perfect heat, the back of Lincoln’s throat against the head of his cock and his sticky fingers on the inside of his thigh. So welcoming, so willing, Lincoln, once you’ve reminded him that he craves going on his knees for his baby brother.

The second he’s done spilling into Lincoln’s mouth, he lays Sara across the bed and dips his head between her legs. Lincoln doesn’t waste any time, moving up from his kneeling position, leaning into her and kissing her. It doesn’t take much imagination to picture what he’s sharing with her. Sara utters an indignant sound, but she doesn’t move away from the kiss.

Michael licks her, hard and messy, and worms his tongue between his own fingers. Her taste, the way her whole body jerks under the intimate kiss, her high-pitched whines, it all makes his cock twitch of its own volition — her eager response, and Lincoln’s babbling. Linc must need to regain some kind of upper hand because he’s pushing her, taunting her, asking her how much she likes it, musing that, fuck, Michael’s tongue is as long as his fingers, isn’t it, and she must feel it so _deep_ inside her.

Sara exhales a long plaintive moan, a tacit admittance of what Lincoln’s saying. Thrashing on the bed, she comes around Michael fingers and on his tongue, with Lincoln still pouring out filthy words and feeding her the remnants of Michael’s flavor. She goes lax, then. Michael waits until the contractions of her pleasure stop squeezing his fingers to remove them. He knows her and what she likes, that she prefers holding on to him while coming down from her high.

Michael straightens and looks up at the two of them. They don’t move. They lie lazily one next to another, flushed and sweaty, chests heaving, plump lips shiny and curved in a sated pout, eyes glistening.

He flashes them his most candid, satisfied smile. Nothing can compare, nothing feels better than being the one who starts this light in their eyes, who causes this languor in their limbs, who elicits and receives their total surrender.

END


End file.
